


Pink Like the Sky, Blue Like Your Eyes

by jesusonaunicycle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blind Character, Disabled Character, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:37:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2292140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesusonaunicycle/pseuds/jesusonaunicycle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur knew the orange of sunsets, the green of trees, and the way light sparkled on water, even though he’d been born blind. Thanks to Merlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pink Like the Sky, Blue Like Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I've been dying to write something like this! I just hope it's up to standard. I've been really out of practice lately, and since my depression has been coming in spurts I've been very unmotivated to write. But I should be back in therapy soon and should be spitting out fics (and chapters, oh God, /chapters/, [weeps at On Dragons' Wings]) hopefully soon after!!! Thank you to those who are being patient and I'm so so so SO sorry!
> 
> Disclaimer: If this offends or seems insensitive in any way, I'm very very sorry. I don't have any relatives or friends going through what Arthur has his entire life in this fic, and if it's something close to home I apologize. Let me know if I can change anything or if I should do something different!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and like always if you see any mistakes, don't hesitate to message me on tumblr or leave a comment at the end of this fic!

Arthur knew the orange of sunsets, the green of trees, and the way light sparkled on water, but he’d been born blind.

His lack of sight never bothered him. He could hear, and touch, and taste, and smell the world—sight seemed such like an unnecessary sense, when you’d been deprived of it. Arthur didn’t need to see the way the world grew or decayed to know its phases and changes. He just _knew,_ in the pit of his stomach, that it was all right to be this way. It wasn’t unnatural or wrong. His mother, while she was alive, told him that he was special, unique to be born without sight. She said he wasn’t something to pity because there was nothing to feel sorry for.

When Ygraine died, and Arthur was sent to university, he’d doubted his mother’s words. There was nothing special about the way he ran into walls, or tripped over things that weren’t there before. Arthur had to start using his cane again—the cane he hadn’t used since he was a boy. The Pendragon House was engraved in his memory, every nook and cranny and sharp turn, so he hadn’t needed his cane. But a dorm room was something completely different, apparently.

It was infuriating. He just couldn’t memorize the dorm. He tripped over dirty laundry, Xbox controllers, some stupid paperweight that had somehow migrated from his roommate’s room to the living area. And he knew it was his roommate’s stupid paperweight, because said _stupid_ roommate _had_ to open his big mouth whenever Arthur happened to trip over something of his.

“Oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry!” came the stupid voice from his stupid roommate. It was a nice voice; a baritone that simultaneously soothed and excited him. It was smooth and had a slight lilt to it, lovely over long vowels. _If only his personality matched his voice_ , Arthur thought with a heavy sigh.

“You say that every time I trip over something of yours,” Arthur gritted out, his jaw clenched. He heard his roommate— _Mer_ lin—scramble up from where he was sitting on the sofa to take ahold of Arthur’s arm, his grip firm and sure.

“Yeah.” Merlin said guiltily. Arthur pictured the sheepish shrug in his head. “I forgot to pick it up. It’s one of the black Xbox controllers, they have little lime green circles in the center of them,” Merlin continued, and Arthur couldn’t really stay angry with him, not when he described what he tripped over.

That was the thing about Merlin. He described everything for Arthur. It was how Arthur knew what sunsets looked like, or forests, or the way sunlight glittered on the campus lake. He knew that sunshine was _gold_ and tree leaves were _green_ and the lake was _blue._ He’d heard of those colors since he was a little boy, but he’d never actually seen them, never got to feel them, until Merlin.

And it scared the living hell out of him.

While walking with together after their last class, Merlin suggested to sit by the lake. Arthur was hesitant about it at first, since it was foreign territory, but Merlin took his elbow (firm and sure, like before) and led him down the grassy bank, bantering back and forth so Arthur wouldn’t feel slighted by the guide. Once they were settled, Arthur’s cane retracted to the size of a pen, Merlin began to talk.

“The lake looks beautiful today,” he murmured, his voice hushed so Arthur could hear Merlin’s hands rippling the water. “The water’s warm, too, like the way the sky looks. It’s all pink and orange, and the sun is yellow. Feel,” Merlin instructed, and Arthur couldn’t help it; he reached down where he thought the water was and _felt_. It was pleasant, and it felt like pink and orange and yellow. Warm.

Then Merlin described the trees. They were evergreens, he said. Rich and green, dark, like the smell of damp earth. Merlin told him they reached high into the sky, pillars of green against the pale pink. He said they reminded him of fall, when the sun was warm but the breeze was brisk and cold. Arthur thought that Merlin’s voice was the color of evergreen trees.

Most days, Merlin would stop there. He’d describe something if Arthur asked, like what did a certain bird look like when Arthur heard its call, or if he heard the splash of a fish in the water, but sometimes they just sat in silence. Then, one day, Arthur said something that surprised even himself.

“What do you look like, Merlin?” he asked in a whisper, flushing immediately after he uttered it.

The question must’ve startled Merlin, because Arthur felt him jolt beside him. He heard Merlin’s nervous laughter after a short, strained silence. “Uh, I’ve told you that before. I don’t look any different from how I did then,” Merlin said, forced cheer in his voice to lighten the awkward tension. Arthur’s brows furrowed as he frowned.

Arthur made a point to shift toward Merlin’s voice. He probably wasn’t looking right at Merlin, but he could hear Merlin’s breathing and knew they were almost face-to-face. “Yes, but I couldn’t _see_ you then. I-I… I want to be able to see you, Merlin. Please.”

Arthur’s hands were already halfway to Merlin’s face. It only took a little guidance from a firm, sure grip. And then the skin beneath Arthur’s palms were warm, _pink,_ his mind supplied, _like the sky._ It was smooth along his cheekbones, which Arthur snickered at slightly, because he’d heard Gwaine once call Merlin’s cheekbones _kickin’_ , and he couldn’t help but agree. They were prominent and beautiful in his mind’s eye. Beneath them, on Merlin’s cheeks, stubble grew. Arthur mapped out the planes of his roommate’s face with fascination, touching a chin and a mouth and a nose and a brow bone, all the way up to thick, soft hair.

“What color is your hair?” Arthur murmured, his fingertips skating down from Merlin’s hair to his eyes, which were closed now that he gently touched their lids. Long eyelashes tickled at his palms.

“Dark,” Merlin answered, and Arthur nearly jerked at how close they’d suddenly become. Merlin swallowed with an audible click before continuing, but never made to shift away. “It’s dark brown. People always assume it’s black, but…” he trailed off as Arthur fit his palms over Merlin’s face, cradling it.

“And your eyes? What color are they?”

“Blue,” Merlin’s breath was ghosting over Arthur’s lips. “Darker than yours, though. Yours are… yours are glacial, Arthur. Bright and cold and frosty. But they’re brilliant.”

Arthur couldn’t help the grin, the satisfaction curling in his chest. “You think my eyes are brilliant?” he teased, and laughed when Merlin shoved weakly at him.

“Would you stop being a cocky prat for two seconds? We were having a moment,” Merlin complained, but shifted so they were back in position, Arthur’s hands cradling Merlin’s face, feeling like he was holding something worthwhile. Someone worthwhile.

“Right, right. Back to your eyes. They’re darker than mine?” Arthur prompted, lightly touching the corners of them. Eyelashes fluttered against his fingers yet again, and butterflies erupted in Arthur’s stomach.

“Mhm. And they’re grayer. Mine are like… I don’t know. My mom used to call them thunderclouds when I was little.” His voice is thoughtful, far away. Arthur has a clear vision of those eyes, sparkling with amusement or crackling with anger, like lightning. It suited him.

Arthur liked the face that was cradled in his hands. It was proportioned (despite the large ears and prominent cheekbones and those _lips_ , Christ) and neatly put together. And he’d gotten most of the color right, except…

“What color are your lips?”

Merlin snorted at the question, and Arthur could feel the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Lip colored,” Merlin answered vaguely, and Arthur pouted.

“That’s not an answer, _Mer_ lin. They could be black for all I know.” He opened his eyes to emphasize his meaning. He heard Merlin suck in a breath.

Arthur knew his eyes weren’t grotesque or anything. They were clear and blue, perfectly normal, except for the fact they didn’t do their job. People were unnerved by his stare all the same, but when Merlin gently touched Arthur’s cheek, he felt the subconscious fear of rejection melt away.

“They’re, um… They’re pink, I guess,” Merlin stammered. Arthur had never heard Merlin nervous before. It was adorable; his voice quivered slightly, higher pitched at the end of his sentences like they were questions. Arthur couldn’t help running his thumb over the soft skin of Merlin’s lips, imagining them pink and lush. “But… They’d be red, if someone kissed me.” Arthur inhaled sharply when Merlin pressed a tiny kiss to the pad of his thumb.

Arthur didn’t need to be told twice. His hand slowly shifted to cup Merlin’s jaw, and with the guidance from Merlin’s fingers, their noses brushed slightly before Arthur got to taste the lips that danced in his mind’s eye. The kiss was simple but sweet, mere brushes of sensitive skin that tingled and Arthur’s heart hammered in his chest. As the kiss deepened, and Merlin made sweet, surprised little noises, Arthur thought that nothing— _nothing_ —was more special than this moment, when the sky was pink like Merlin’s lips and the trees were green like Merlin’s voice and the lake was blue like Merlin’s eyes, and everything was perfect.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is much appreciated! c:
> 
> My tumblr: [jesus-on-a-unicycle.tumblr.com](jesus-on-a-unicycle.tumblr.com)


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